


Dancing

by Lurlur



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Ficlet, First Dance, Flirting, Male-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Regency, Regency Romance, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), rated g for gentle longing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25631458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: Written for Soft Omens Snuggle House Guess the Author event!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 80
Collections: SOSH - Guess the Author #03 "Dancing"





	1. Chapter 1

Cursing, Crowley turned away from the door the instant she saw Aziraphale enter. Just as she resolved to make her excuses and leave the ball, a hand touched her gloved forearm, halting her retreat.

“Miss Crowley, are you acquainted with Mr Fell? I understand you stay in the same part of London,” asked Sir Richard, their damnably attentive host.

Smiling sweetly, Crowley turned to face the man and the angel beside him.

“Mr Fell, I wondered if we would meet this season,” she said, offering her hand.

“It’s been too long, Miss Crowley,” Aziraphale said, bringing her fingers to his lips.

Sir Richard clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder, a friendly gesture.

“Perfect, my odd ducks paired up! I told you it’d be alright, Fell,” he said, “Miss Crowley is acquainted with all and sundry here, she’ll see you well connected soon enough.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Aziraphale remarked, a touch drily for Crowley’s liking.

As soon as their host departed, Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand, tucking it into his elbow.

“So, who’s worth knowing here?” he asked, surveying the room. Crowley glanced around for anyone suitable.

“Not sure these are your sort, really,” she said at last, aiming for casual disinterest.

Aziraphale’s huff of laughter suggested she had missed the mark.

“Come now, be agreeable,” he chided. Smiling with too many teeth, she acquiesced, leading him around for introductions.

It was a loathsome chore, made tolerable by dropping salacious gossip into conversation and Aziraphale’s grip tightening whenever she misbehaved.

Once the dancing began, Crowley escaped to the terrace with a glass of wine. Surprisingly, Aziraphale followed instead of working his heavenly influence in her absence.

“Not one for dancing then?” he asked, leaning on the balustrade.

“Not if I can help it.”

“Pity,” Aziraphale said. Not for the first time that night, she noted his eyes on her.

She knew she looked good; how striking her hair was against the pale silk of her dress, how the empire cut flattered her. She hadn’t expected Aziraphale to notice, to be  _ appreciative _ , and yet he was  _ looking _ .

Without thinking, Crowley turned to face Aziraphale, offering him the curtsey that began a dance. He smiled and bowed.

Moving awkwardly at first, unsure and unpractised at dancing, they circled each other, keeping eye contact. For every step that brought them closer, another took them apart. Their hands never touched, fingertips swaying so close that Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s warmth. The music was audible, but Crowley found the pounding of her heart a surer beat to follow.

Finally,  _ finally _ , the dance brought them together and Aziraphale’s hands found her waist, lifting her easily. Her legs almost folded on landing, overwhelmed at being in his hands. He held her until she steadied, understanding.

They broke apart, stepped away, distance sorely needed after the intimacy.

He bowed, she curtseyed.

“I have to go,” Crowley said, hitching her skirts and rushing into the house. Miraculously, her carriage was waiting.

Too close. Too much. Too dangerous.


	2. LONG Dancing!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the original version I wrote and then edited down to what you see in Ch1. I laugh in the face of 500 word limits!

Cursing her rotten luck, Crowley turned her back to the door the instant that she saw Aziraphale enter the hall. She wasn’t ready to see him, hadn’t prepared herself for the tumult of emotions that he stirred in her. Just as she resolved to make her excuses and leave the ball, a hand laid on her gloved forearm, halting her escape.

“Miss Crowley, are you acquainted with Mr Fell? I understand you both stay in the same part of London when in town.” Damn Sir Richard, playing the ever-attentive host to perfection.

Crowley turned to face the man and the angel at his side, fixing on her sweetest smile.

“Ah, Mr Fell, I had wondered if I would see you this season,” she said warmly, offering her hand to him.

“It has been too long, Miss Crowley,” Aziraphale said as he brought her fingers to his lips, his eyes never dropping from hers. “I hope you are well?”

Sir Richard clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder in a gesture that spoke of ease and familiarity.

“Perfect, my two odd ducks paired up! I told you that there was nothing to fear, Fell,” he said with another pat to Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Miss Crowley is acquainted with all and sundry here, I should say, she’ll see you well connected by the end of the night.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Aziraphale remarked, a touch drily for Crowley’s liking.

Their host offered a short, shallow bow before departing, off to see to the needs of some new arrivals. Aziraphale wasted no time in taking Crowley’s hand and tucking it into the crook of his elbow.

“So, my dear, who’s worth knowing here?” he asked as they began a progress around the room.

Crowley considered his question for a moment, glancing around for anyone suitable. Unsurprisingly, she found that the idea of sharing his attention was distasteful to her. Why should she introduce him to the tiresome Mrs Chester, the gossipy Miss Ford, or the lecherous Reverend Harding? Crowley was far better company than any of these humans.

“Not sure these are your sort, really,” she said after a pause, trying to sound casually disinterested.

Aziraphale’s quiet huff of laughter suggested that she had missed the mark.

“Come now, be agreeable,” he chided. She responded with a smile that showed far too many teeth but acquiesced, leading him around the room and making such introductions as were required.

It was a loathsome way to spend an hour, made only passably tolerable by dropping hints of gossip into her conversation and the way that Aziraphale’s grip would tighten over her fingers whenever she misbehaved.

Finally, the musicians took their positions and signalled for the dancers to take their places. Citing an excess of heat, Crowley excused herself to the terrace with a glass of wine. That Aziraphale followed her was surprising, she had expected him to capitalise on her absence and work his heavenly influence over whichever poor soul he had in his sights.

“Not one for dancing then, Crowley?” he asked, leaning on the balustrade beside her.

“Not if I can help it,” she answered, enjoying the cool breeze toying with the loose curls at her nape.

“Pity,” Aziraphale said simply. Not for the first time that night, she noticed him looking her up and down.

The fashion for empire line dresses suited Crowley’s slender figure, and the low neckline emphasised the fine structure of her throat. She knew she looked good, she knew how striking her hair was against the pale silk of her dress and ivory of her skin. She had not expected Aziraphale to notice, nor for him to be _appreciative_ of her appearance, and yet he was looking at her with unguarded affection.

Without conscious thought, Crowley pushed away from the balustrade and moved to face Aziraphale, offering him the curtsey that marked the beginning of the dance. A delighted smile lit his face as he set down his wine glass and bowed to her.

They moved with uncertainty at first, unsure of the steps and unpractised at the movements. With increasing grace, they circled each other, never dropping the eye contact between them. For every step that brought them closer, another took them apart again. Their hands never touching, only hovering so close that Crowley could feel his warmth through her gloves. The music was loud enough to guide them, but Crowley found that the pounding of her heart was a far better beat to follow, allowing Aziraphale to lead whenever the dance had to be altered for the lack of other dancers.

Finally, _finally_ , the dance brought them spiralling together and Aziraphale’s hands found her waist, lifting her with ease for a short hop. Her legs almost didn’t support her on landing, knees weak with the reality of being held by Aziraphale. He held on until she was steady, clearly feeling when she was unable to support her own weight.

They broke apart and danced away until they were suitably spaced, distance being sorely needed after the intimacy of the lift.

He bowed, she curtseyed.

“I- I have to go,” Crowley said, rushing forward to place a chaste kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek before hitching up her skirts and running down the steps to the lawn, rounding the side of the house and sprinting until she found her carriage.

Too close, too much. Too dangerous.

Crowley went home to sleep until she felt better.


End file.
